Here Come the Memories
by Mozengirl
Summary: An anthology of our boys' time in Spain, with a healthy heaping of subtextual Miguelio.


**A/N: For context, I would recommend reading my previous story, "Not So Long Ago (Seems Like Eternity)." Also, there is underage drinking in this chapter, which I do not condone in real life.**

 _Outskirts of Madrid, 1504_

"So, what's your story?"

Tulio's arms stilled, the pieces of flint in his hands suddenly felt separate from him. He was crouched over the fireplace, trying to get a flame going. After running away from the guards, they walked down the road for a few hours until they came to an old shack: wood and thatch, with a caved in roof, so one quarter of the room was a slope of straw. The dust-layered bed was pushed to the far end of south wall, next to a table and wooden cabinet. On the west wall, next to the fire place, Miguel sat with his legs crisscrossed on an old fabric armchair that had long since lost its legs.

Tulio squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. All he was managing to do was stir up more dust with the back and forth movement of his hands, trying to start a fire to sustain him. He felt there was a metaphor for his life in there somewhere.

"What do you mean, my story?" Tulio finally asked, not looking up.

"I mean the story of your life. For instance, where are you from?"

Tulio blinked, lowered his head. He was surprised Miguel was trying to talk to him again, given how their one conversation on the way down the road went:

" _What's your favorite color?" Miguel asked at random._

" _Huh?"_

" _Well, if we're going to be partners, I have to know at least a little bit about you, and I find that one's favorite color reveals quite a bit about their character. So, what's yours?"_

"… _.Gold."_

" _Gold? That's not a color, that's a metal."_

" _It's the color_ of _a metal."_

" _Well, I always thought of gold as just a metal. Favorite colors can be blue, or red, or green, or purple, or chartreuse, or…"_

" _Please stop talking."_

"… _.."_

"… _.."_

Damn, now he felt guilty again. Miguel apparently did that to him a lot, and he couldn't decide whether that was a good or bad thing, which put him in a confused, sour mood.

 _Breathe, Tulio. It's a simple question. Just answer it._

Tulio looked up. Miguel was eying him hopefully.

"Madrid," Tulio answered. "I'm from Madrid."

Miguel gave a small smile. Tulio quirked his mouth up in something that he hoped was similar to the blond's expression.

Tulio returned his attention to the flint, striking them against each other. His back hurt from bending over for so long.

"I'm from Segovia."

Tulio paused, gave a quick nod, then continued.

Silence pervaded for a moment.

"How old are you?"

Tulio grunted in the back of his throat. For politeness sakes, he hoped it wasn't audible. "I'm twelve," he answered flatly.

"I'm fourteen."

At that, Tulio looked up. Miguel was sitting forward with his head in his hands, his big green eyes lighting up the room where Tulio's hands had failed. He had no facial hair and a babyish face. The only sign of his age was his chin, which was on the verge of becoming square.

"Huh," Tulio managed.

The big green eyes narrowed for a moment in question. "What?"

"It's just…you're older than me."

Miguel nodded politely, but in a manner that suggested the obvious nature of the statement was kind of silly. "Yes, I am."

Tulio's eyebrows scrunched together. "Yeah, but…I guess I just assumed the opposite."

Miguel's head cocked to the side, like a young owl just learning the flexibility of its neck. "Why?"

 _Because you ask silly questions and have big eyes._

Tulio shrugged. "No reason, just an educated guess."

Miguel's eyes narrowed slightly. "In what way is it 'educated?'"

Tulio's eyes flittered away. Apparently Miguel wasn't _as_ silly as he thought.

Tulio cleared his throat, returning his attention back to the unlighted pile of wood in front of him.

Again, silence ruled. He heard Miguel shift next to him, changing positions in the chair, which creaked under his weight.

"…Blue."

The creaking stopped as Miguel stilled. "What?"

Tulio swallowed, wetting his lips as his hands stilled again. "My favorite color is blue."

Tulio struck the flint in his right hand against the grain in his left, and the wood finally caught the spark. Tulio's eyes widened as he saw the fire breathe to life in front of him.

"Yes, you did it!" Miguel exclaimed. Tulio looked over at him, giving a rather satisfied smirk.

Miguel was making his way off the chair towards the cabinet. He reached for the handle. "Let's see if there's something to eat."

Tulio's smile dropped immediately. "No, wait, don't!"

 _POOF_

A large cloud of dust exploded from the cabinet. When Miguel turned around, his entire front was covered in a thin gray layer of dust. His expression was none too pleased.

Tulio snorted, trying to hold back a laugh that eventually made its way out anyway. Tulio doubled over, a litany of "ha ha"'s and "oh my God"'s making their way out of his mouth.

Eventually, he looked up to see Miguel giving him a flat stare. Tulio brought a fist up to his mouth and cleared his throat.

After a while, Miguel gave him a sly smile. "Well, it's nice to see you entertained," he deadpanned.

Tulio returned the expression. "And gray looks lovely on you."

Miguel merely rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the cabinet.

From behind, Tulio could see the contents of the cabinet, all under a cushion of dust: rotted wrinkly fruit, moldy green bread with rat-sized bite marks taken out of them, and five glass bottles on the top shelf.

Miguel, apparently seeing their lack of options as well, reached for the top shelf, grabbing a bottle. He blew off most of the dust and scrubbed the rest off with his shirt sleeve. A lopsided grin came onto his face.

"Merlot," Miguel said, turning the bottle around to show Tulio the label. "1450. A good year, I hear."

Tulio swallowed. He was more hungry than thirsty—he had only had the orange and the bite of apple from earlier—but he knew what wine did to men. It made them feel good and forget. He wanted that right now.

Miguel pulled the cork out with his teeth, tilting the bottle up to take a swig. Suddenly, he stopped, looking at Tulio out of the corner of his eye. He lowered the bottle and stepped forward until he was right in front of Tulio. Miguel squatted down, getting on his level.

"Here," he said, offering the bottle. "You can have the first sip."

Tulio looked from the bottle to the blond's face. He had never had a sip of alcohol before. Miguel was looking at him expectantly.

Tulio slowly reached for the bottle. "Thanks," he murmured, and brought the bottle to his lips. The wine was bitter and warm, and he felt his eyes nearly pop out of his skull with the effort not to make a face.

Miguel took the bottle back, swishing the liquid around and sniffing at the mouth of the bottle before taking a sip. His cheeks puffed out as he spewed out the wine in a spray of purple.

"Damn," he coughed. "That's not nearly as good when it's warm."

Tulio's eyebrows raised. "You've, uh, drank before?"

Miguel brought his hand away from his mouth. A sort of shadow passed over his eyes. "Yeah, once or twice. Father would occasionally let me drink from his cup at dinner."

Tulio's mouth twisted.

Miguel stayed quiet for a moment, then his smile returned as he offered Tulio the bottle again. "Here, take a few more sips. It gets better the more you drink."

Tulio took the bottle from the blond's hand. This time, their fingers brushed by accident. Tulio felt a shock of cold, then a sudden wave of warmth. He brought the bottle quickly to his lips, closing his eyes as he gulped it down as quickly as he could. When he opened his eyes, Miguel had sat down in front of him. The fire to his left seemed brighter. His stomach felt warm.

Giving a half-smile, Tulio raised the bottle. "To our new partnership."

Miguel beamed, taking the bottle back. "I'll drink to that."

"I never knew my father," Tulio slurred.

It had been a few hours, as the sky outside the window was dark. Tulio was laying down, parallel to Miguel, his feet next to Miguel's head. They had drunk the first bottle and half of a second one, taking turns so they both drunk an equal amount. They were both sloshed, lying on the floor in front of the fire, which they had miraculously managed to keep going in their state. They were silent for a good long while until Tulio blurted this out a propos of nothing.

Miguel lifted his head, not even bothering to get up on his elbows. "Huh?" he managed.

Tulio sighed, bringing his hands up to rest on his stomach. "Earlier, you asked me about my story, and you brought up your father. I never knew mine. He either died or left, or both. I can't remember presently at this moment."

At that, Miguel did prop himself up on his elbows. He gave a blurred, confused stare. "You don't remember? Even as…" Miguel hiccupped, then burped. "Sorry. Even as drunk as you are, that's not something you really forget."

Tulio got up onto his own elbows. "Maybe, but I did. And you know what? I still remember I even _had_ a dad. You know what I need for that? A booze-based remedy," he squeaked, reaching for the half-empty bottle between them.

Miguel grabbed the bottle just before Tulio could reach it. He scowled. Miguel looked him dead in the eye. "Red," the blond uttered.

Tulio's scowl twisted into a look of confusion. "What?" he asked.

Miguel blinked. "Red. That's my favorite color." He stood up and walked over to the window, putting the bottle of the sill. "You never asked, but that's what it is," Miguel said, his back still to Tulio.

Tulio let his head thump back against the floor. _Damn it, you golden-haired goof._

Tulio breathed in. "I like blue because it was the color of my mother's eyes," he murmured.

Miguel turned around. He made his way back to the floor next to Tulio. He sat down. "Red was the color of my mother's hair."

Tulio got up on his elbows again. "She wasn't blond?" he asked.

Miguel gave a sad smirk. "If your referring to _my_ hair, no. But I did get her eyes."

Tulio tilted his head. "Red hair and green eyes?"

Miguel nodded. "She was Irish."

Tulio sat up all the way. "I _thought_ you had an accent."

Miguel snorted. "Yeah. My father was Spanish, though. A farmer in Segovia. I got my accent from my mother and my governess. She was English."

Tulio startled. "Wait, wait, wait. You had a _governess_? But you said your dad was a farmer?"

Miguel shrugged. "A _labrador rico,_ actually. Practically a _hildalgo._ He owned a couple hundred acres of land, given to him by his father, which was given to him by his father, blah, blah, blah…" he accentuated the last part with a foppish wave of his arm.

Tulio leaned forward, getting a better look at Miguel. He supposed that made sense, Miguel coming from a well-off family: he had on well-fitting, non-worn shoes, non-tattered trousers, and a silk-looking shirt that only had dirt on the bottom hem. In fact, Tulio noticed for the first time, the tunic was white under all the dust from the cabinet. No common person could afford white clothing. That, and Miguel's mandolin playing was well advanced: there was no doubt now in

Tulio's mind that he had had a private music teacher. But something didn't add up.

"What are you doing here?" Tulio asked.

Miguel slumped forward, his golden fringe making a curtain around his face. "Well, Father died. Mother died when I was eight, and he died last month. My sister and I…"

Tulio felt a shock go through him. "Ah! Wuh, wuh, wait! You have a _sister?_ Well, where is _she?"_

Miguel looked up, smiling faintly. "Isabella. I called her Izzy most of the time, but when she annoyed me, I called her Grizabella." A small laugh escaped him. "I chose it because it sounds like something you would name a stray cat."

Tulio shrugged, smiling a bit. "Yeah, I suppose it does."

Miguel took a deep breath. His eyes were beginning to glaze over. "But she had a beautiful voice. She would sing our mother's lullaby, and I would play along on my mandolin." Miguel smiled, but then his lip began to quiver. "I miss my mandolin." Tears spilled over onto his cheeks. "I miss _her…"_

Miguel curled in on himself, cries wracking his frame. Tulio crawled over as if by some long-suppressed instinct and wrapped his arms around the blond. "Hey, hey, no, it's okay," he whispered, feeling Miguel shake. "Look, I'm…I'm sorry I asked. We don't have to talk about it if you want."

Miguel lifted his head, coming nose-to-nose with Tulio. They looked at each other for a good five seconds until the dark haired boy backed off as if the flame from the fireplace suddenly caught on to him.

Miguel coughed into his fist, using his other hand to wipe at his eyes. "No, it's okay. It feels good to talk about it. Honest."

Tulio looked down at his hands on his knees. He breathed in through his nose, exhaling the same way. "My mother was a seamstress," he began, not looking up. "She would work so hard that her fingers bled, even though she was too talented to ever prick herself." He took another breath. "When she died two years ago, she didn't have a _peseta_ to her name."

He looked up to see Miguel mirror his position: hands on his knees, but he was sitting ram-rod straight, having regained his composure.

"Isabella and I inherited the land, and the money," the blond began. "But we couldn't stand the sight of our home anymore. So we decided to start over again in Madrid. We were on our way with our caravan when…when bandits came and…they took everything, and…" Miguel squeezed his eyes shut, new tears cutting streams down his face. "They took her."

Tulio squeezed his own eyes shut. He could only imagine, and he didn't want to.

Tulio reached over, taking the blond in his arms again. This time, Miguel was still and silent as he cried, as if his soul had left his body. Tulio didn't want to give Miguel any false hope, so he didn't say anything. He just held Miguel, who rested his golden head on Tulio's shoulder.

After a while, Miguel made some space between them.

Tulio bit his lip and brought a hand up to his chin. He needed to distract Miguel somehow.

Suddenly, he got an idea. He smiled at the accomplishment, but then rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "I'm so going to regret this when I'm sober," he muttered. He took a deep breath from his diaphragm:

 _Often these days, and always these nights_

 _I find I'm afraid of the turbulent heights_

Miguel looked up, his eyes still damp, but shock made its way through the sadness. Tulio continued singing.

 _No matter how crazily, no matter how far_

 _The moments of tenderness are those where you are_

Tulio felt the room turn around him as he paused. Then, he kept going.

 _For when you are laughing; like silver, like rain_

 _You cool me, you soothe me; and love me again_

 _For a few perfect hours the world lets me be_

 _You know how to calm down the panic in me_

Tulio blinked simultaneously as Miguel when he finished. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"That was beautiful," Miguel finally let out. "What was that?"

Tulio smiled sheepishly. "Well, the song's beautiful, at least. My voice could definitely use some work. It was a lullaby my mother sang to me."

Miguel smiled, wiping away the last of his tears. "Is there more?" he asked softly.

Tulio shook his head. "No, it's just the one stanza."

Miguel started. "Just one stanza? Why, that's downright criminal!"

They both stilled at the word "criminal," then they laughed at the irony.

"Well, then, we'll have to come up with the rest of the song ourselves," Miguel stated. "I mean, if that's alright with you."

Tulio shrugged. "I don't see the harm in it."

Miguel beamed. "Great! That's…great…" Miguel trailed off, looking down between them.

Tulio looked down as well to see what had caught his eye, only to see their hands on their respective knees.

Then, slowly-so slowly Tulio was almost uncertain it was happening-Miguel reached over and grabbed his hand. Tulio's head snapped up. Miguel was looking at him in a manner as if all his drunkenness had suddenly doubled. The blond was smiling and his eyes were drooping and glinting. "That was a beautiful song," he murmured.

Tulio felt a jolt go through him as if he had been struck by lightning and drowned at the same time. He slapped at Miguel's palm, breaking the contact.

The blond frowned, appearing confused as he reached for the back of Tulio's hand. Tulio slapped that away as well. Somehow, in all the hand fumbling, their fingers became intertwined. Tulio panicked, trying to wiggle his fingers free while making shocked drunken noises in the back of his throat.

Miguel snorted, then drew his hand away. He looked up at Tulio, who could plainly feel the shock and mild discomfort on his face.

Miguel recovered first, a smile lighting up his face. "Hey, that could be our thing!"

Tulio blanched. _"What?"_ he nearly shrieked.

Miguel continued on, oblivious. "Yeah, that could be like our secret handshake. That's a thing, right? Secret handshakes? Well, screw it, if it's not, I'm making it a thing! I'm a modern sixteenth century man: I can make new things, and this will be our thing."

Tulio held his hand, which was warm at the center. It wasn't entirely unpleasant. "A secret handshake?"

Miguel nodded, clearly excited. "Yeah, yeah! Do it again, where you slap my palm, then the back, then do the finger thing with that weird noise you made."

Tulio's eyebrow arched. "Why do I have to make the noise again?"

"I don't know, it just works. I'll do it too," the blond reassured him.

Tentatively, Tulio held out his hand and preformed the handshake with Miguel.

 _Slap, Slap, "Hmmmmm."_

Tulio smiled, letting out a small laugh. Miguel did the same.

"Hey," Miguel began through his laugh.

"Hey, hey," Tulio quipped.

They both sighed. Tulio leaned back. He felt tired all of a sudden, as if he had accomplished some great task. He laid down fully.

"Good night, Miguel." He said, closing his eyes.

He heard rustling as Miguel adjusted himself a little farther away. "Good night, Tulio."

Tulio heard the song being hummed as he drifted off to sleep.

"Rise and shine, Tulio!"

Tulio opened his eyes a crack. The room was on its side, and Miguel was crouched down, right in front of his face. Apparently in the course of the night, Tulio had shifted positions so he was now lying on his stomach with his cheek pressed against the coarse wood of the floor. His head felt dull and painful.

"I will rise, but I will not shine," Tulio groaned.

Miguel smiled. "Well, just so long as you get up and see what I found."

Curiosity somewhat peaked, Tulio began to stand up, then wobbled back down to the floor. Miguel took hold of his arm and helped him up. "Thanks," Tulio grumbled.

Miguel let go, and made his way over to the bed on the far side of the wall by the caved-in ceiling. He bent down, pulling something out from underneath: it was an old trunk, made of dried crinkled leather and rusty metal fastenings. Tulio noticed that the lock had been removed; it was at the foot of the bed.

"The lock was so old, I was able to just rip it off," Miguel said with a proud smile. He bent down to open up the trunk.

Tulio came over to get a closer look: it was full of folded up fabrics. Clothes.

Miguel began to dig through the contents in a careful manner, unfolding than refolding the shirts and pants and setting them aside. "I don't think any of these trousers will fit us," Miguel said. "And the shirts are a little big, but I think we can still use those."

Miguel continued to take out the clothes, seemingly unsatisfied with all he found.

"What, are you looking for something specific?" Tulio asked skeptically.

"Something blue." Miguel answered nonchalantly.

For some reason, Tulio felt his face heat up.

Eventually, Miguel made his way to the bottom, where there were two shirts left along with a rolled up leather belt.

"Huh, no blue," Miguel said, clearly disappointed. He pulled out one of the two shirts gingerly: it was the light gray color, like clouds just after a storm had passed. He stood up, handing it over to Tulio. "Here, I think this one will suit you better than the other."

Tulio took the shirt from Miguel like he was receiving a gift. He turned around for modesty's sake, removing his own dirty charcoal gray tunic to put on his new one. It was loose enough that he could have stuffed the pillows from the bed underneath and still have room. He turned around, embarrassed.

Miguel considered him, and hand on his chin. "Not bad, a little loose, though. Why don't you try it with the belt?"

Tulio nodded. That was actually a good idea. He made his way over to the trunk, unrolling the belt in his hands. Fortunately, the leather was in good condition. He wrapped it around his waist over the shirt; he buckled it at the last fastening.

He turned around, posing in a semi-confidant manner. "How do I look?" he asked.

Miguel looked him up and down, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he shrugged, a playful smile on his face. "Somewhat presentable," he said.

Tulio was taken aback. "'Somewhat presentable?' Oh, like you could do better."

Miguel lifted his chin in challenge. Then, with a quick flourish, he took off his shirt.

Tulio averted his eyes for some reason he couldn't comprehend.

 _We're both boys, what's the big deal?_

Miguel made his way back to the trunk and pulled out the other shirt: it was a dark russet with a V-neck. He put it on, spreading his arms out and lifting his chin in a triumphant pose.

Tulio looked him over: the tunic fit Miguel slightly better than his own new shirt, but the color was too dark for the blond's disposition.

Still, he looked good.

Like Tulio was going to admit that.

"Presentable enough," Tulio coyly declared.

Miguel gave him a sideways glance. "Well, it'll have to do," he said playfully.

Tulio smirked, but that dissipated after a while as they stood in silence. To be fair, it was a slightly more comfortable silence than the other ones they had shared before.

"So, now what?" the blond eventually asked.

Tulio brought a hand up to his chin in a ponderous manner. "Well, the closest city is Segovia."

Miguel clearly stiffened at that.

"…but next is Avila." Tulio quickly rectified. "I hear it's mostly livestock owners, so they could use a bit of entertainment, huh?"

Miguel beamed. "I can play music, and you can dance!"

Tulio winked. "That's the idea."

Suddenly, Miguel deflated. "But I left my mandolin back in the city."

Tulio shrugged. "They have a city center in Avila. We can lift a mandolin from a store and…"

"No."

Tulio was taken aback. "No?"

Miguel looked him square in the eye. "No. We are not going to steal. I'm willing to beg, but I'm not going to steal. Stealing hurts people."

"But _we're_ hurting right now! We don't have any money!" Tulio whined.

"I know," Miguel said. He came forward, putting a hand on Tulio's shoulder, who had an angry pout on his face.

"Look," Miguel began. "I know our present situation isn't very good, but that's no reason to make other people miserable too. I'm used to begging by now. We can do that for a little while until we save up enough for a mandolin, and then we can entertain people for money. Does that work for you?"

Tulio grunted, slumping his shoulder. He _really_ hated begging, even though he was used to it, too. "Look Miguel…"

Suddenly, the blond's eyes seemed to get wider, and his lower lip began to tremble slightly.

"What…what are you doing?" Tulio asked.

The green eyes got somehow even wider, and the blond began making small sounds at the back of his throat.

"What? No, Miguel, I…"

The light from the window made its way past Tulio's shoulder to land on Miguel's face. The brightness only served to highlight the blond's pitiful… _adorable_ expression. There was no other word for it.

"Miguel, stop making that face!"

The face got even more animated.

"Miguel, I'm warning you!"

Miguel made the noise of a wounded dog.

"Fine!" Tulio exclaimed, raising his arms above his head. "Fine, no stealing! Just… _stop_ with the _face!"_

Miguel's expression suddenly flipped into one of his usual cheerfulness. "Thank you!" he sing-songed, making his way to the door of the shack.

Tulio's mouth dropped. He stood stock still for a moment before turning around to see Miguel again. "You…you _manipulated_ me!"

Miguel smiled devilishly. "And don't make me start it up again, cuz I _will_." He said, pointing to his face.

Tulio's mouth snapped shut as Miguel made his way out the door. After a moment, he ran after the blond.

"Hey, do you think that trick would work on other people?" Tulio asked, making his away down the dirt path towards the blond, who had already made considerable progress from the dilapidated shack.

"Oh, I _know_ it does," the blond drawled, giving Tulio a sideways glance. "But you cracked sooner than most."

Tulio looked away, his face flushed.

"But, hey, that's alright," Miguel said. Suddenly, Miguel stopped.

Tulio turned around to look at him again. "What?" he asked.

Miguel looked down at the dirt. "I know I said no stealing, but if we were to, I don't know… _exaggerate_ the truth," he said, looking up at Tulio, then to the side. "And I was to make that face, so people were willing to give us food and money _willingly,_ " he pursed his lips, then turned his gaze back to Tulio. "I would be okay with that."

Tulio blinked. So, the blond wasn't all innocence and sunshine and golden behavior.

Tulio went back to Miguel and stuck his hand out. "Got it. No stealing, but lying and conning are on the table. Deal."

Miguel gave him a lopsided smile, then lifted up his own hand. "Deal."

They did their new handshake.

They started off down the road, heading west towards Avila with the sun behind, them with their new shirts, new handshake, new tricks, and a whole new beginning.

 **Additional A/N: I nicknamed this chapter "The Road to Exposition" in my head. The song Tulio sings is "The Panic in Me" by Elton John from the movie's soundtrack. A** _ **labrador rico**_ **is a rich farmer and a** _ **hidalgo**_ **is a petty noble.**


End file.
